I don't have much time to write this. I'm writing it because I've felt disconnected from this important part of my life--this anonymous outlet for my feelings and thoughts.
Since I've been in grad school, I haven't had a lot of time to do stuff. By stuff, I mean stuff I normally had time to do, like read, hang out with friends, play PS4, watch TV, spend all day on the internet. This is good.
Going to the same place I did my undergrad stirs an occasional mixture of nostalgia in my gut once in a while. For instance, walking past the baseball field reminds me of the evenings Ana and I would walk by there on our way to the parking lot. Or, whenever I happen to see the big second-floor windows in the student center, I look also at the jacaranda across the way, and am reminded of the time I helped her prepare for an important presentation during a rainstorm--back when that jacaranda was in bloom.
I've been thinking of the future as well. As I sit in the library, I dream of the graduation ceremony two years from now where I'll be presented with a Master's degree.
That excites me. And the thought of moving abroad to teach English after graduation excites me as well. I haven't told you or anybody yet, but I'm looking to leave the country after I get my degree for an extended period of time of teaching abroad. That's another dream that keeps me afloat.
I'll continue writing here, naturally. By this time, I'm too far invested to quit now. All my most intimate thoughts and feelings have been recorded here (and some not so intimate, not so important); who I was can be found here, and I think there are even traces of who I'm yet to become.
How long has it been? 5 years? And how long will it go on? Another 5 years?
We'll see.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Family Tensions
Today I went to work with my dad. We ate lunch at Taco Bell. We started to talk seriously about my brother. Apparently, yesterday night, he needed a scale to weigh himself. See, he's trying to get into the police academy, and about a month ago they told him to lose 10 pounds in 1 month. He was at 210 lbs. Last night, he was looking for a scale even though he's bought at least 2 in the past few years. My dad overheard him and my mom talking about it. He decided to go to Walmart to buy one. When he returned, my brother weighed himself. He was at 227.
My dad asked him why he didn't weigh himself before today--days before he has to go get weighed by the recruiters (Wednesday, I believe). My brother said that he didn't need to because he knows his own body. This was before my dad bought the scale. Then, when he weighed himself in the living room, he said how it's not a big deal because he's gained muscle and that they'd forgive the extra weight.
My dad was fuming. He was absolutely fed-up. "Is he that stupid?" my dad said at Taco Bell. "Do I need to take him to a psychiatrist, check to see if he's mentally handicap?" My dad has never said anything like this to me before.
My dad has no faith in my 27 year old brother, who still lives in my parents garage, who works a low-wage part time job at a retail store, whose room is, in the words of my father, "the way homeless people live." I told my dad that my brother has a victim mentality: he feels exasperated by the world, feels as though it's out to get him and there's nothing he can do. But this isn't necessarily so. He refuses to do things because he thinks he's always the one who has to do them, even though: a) he never is, and b) even if he does do them all the time, they're still important things that ought to get done just to better his own life. Simple things too, basic things that any competent adult should be able to do for themselves, like bring in groceries, do one's own laundry, wash dishes, etc.
My mom is my brother's greatest champion. My dad's constantly at-odds with her. She protects us from my father's scorn, his criticisms. Not unfounded criticisms: genuine things he believes we should be doing at our ages. But my mom gets emotional and threatens him if he dare speak out against us. And once my mom gets upset, the whole household locks in a tense stalemate and everyone's unhappy.
But my brother's fucking up his opportunities, and my father can't help being pissed-off. He's getting old, and being a gardener isn't for people without cartilage in their knees or constant pains in their elbows. My dad constantly worries about the day he's not going to be able to work anymore. Once he's no longer bringing in money, where will the family be? Due to his sacrifices, I live in a house, have food, have utilities like light and gas. But what happens when my dad's done, his body says no more?
He doesn't think we, his kids, can survive without him. But my mom will never let him say that. Especially not to my brother who, filled with shame and guilt, hardly ever talks to my dad, avoids his presence, and once, I remember, cried when my dad confronted him about his life choices.
I feel sorry for my self-oblivious brother. I feel sorry for my trapped, sacrificial dad. I feel sorry for my unreasonable mom. I feel sorry that we're in this situation. I'd feel sorry for myself too, but I feel that would be too self-indulgent, and that's something I want to differentiate between my older brother and myself.
"Sometimes I feel like selling the house, giving half of it to your mom, and telling her, 'Go. Take your kids.'" I looked at my dad wide-eyed when he said that. He wasn't totally serious. I've never heard my parents talk about divorce before. But I could tell: the action with the thought, though far away, was certainly within distance, if only enough time would pass.
When I asked him, when he was 28 and got married to my mom, did he ever think about the difficulties that would arise with his wife and with his family--the irreconcilable, unsolvable problems? Did he ever consider those at 28? "I should have been old enough," he laughed. "If you were to ask me for marriage advice," he later told me, "I wouldn't know what to say. 'Marry a good woman'? Well, yeah. But just because you marry a good woman doesn't mean you're going to have a good marriage, you know?"
I felt a bit sad agreeing with him.
My dad asked him why he didn't weigh himself before today--days before he has to go get weighed by the recruiters (Wednesday, I believe). My brother said that he didn't need to because he knows his own body. This was before my dad bought the scale. Then, when he weighed himself in the living room, he said how it's not a big deal because he's gained muscle and that they'd forgive the extra weight.
My dad was fuming. He was absolutely fed-up. "Is he that stupid?" my dad said at Taco Bell. "Do I need to take him to a psychiatrist, check to see if he's mentally handicap?" My dad has never said anything like this to me before.
My dad has no faith in my 27 year old brother, who still lives in my parents garage, who works a low-wage part time job at a retail store, whose room is, in the words of my father, "the way homeless people live." I told my dad that my brother has a victim mentality: he feels exasperated by the world, feels as though it's out to get him and there's nothing he can do. But this isn't necessarily so. He refuses to do things because he thinks he's always the one who has to do them, even though: a) he never is, and b) even if he does do them all the time, they're still important things that ought to get done just to better his own life. Simple things too, basic things that any competent adult should be able to do for themselves, like bring in groceries, do one's own laundry, wash dishes, etc.
My mom is my brother's greatest champion. My dad's constantly at-odds with her. She protects us from my father's scorn, his criticisms. Not unfounded criticisms: genuine things he believes we should be doing at our ages. But my mom gets emotional and threatens him if he dare speak out against us. And once my mom gets upset, the whole household locks in a tense stalemate and everyone's unhappy.
But my brother's fucking up his opportunities, and my father can't help being pissed-off. He's getting old, and being a gardener isn't for people without cartilage in their knees or constant pains in their elbows. My dad constantly worries about the day he's not going to be able to work anymore. Once he's no longer bringing in money, where will the family be? Due to his sacrifices, I live in a house, have food, have utilities like light and gas. But what happens when my dad's done, his body says no more?
He doesn't think we, his kids, can survive without him. But my mom will never let him say that. Especially not to my brother who, filled with shame and guilt, hardly ever talks to my dad, avoids his presence, and once, I remember, cried when my dad confronted him about his life choices.
I feel sorry for my self-oblivious brother. I feel sorry for my trapped, sacrificial dad. I feel sorry for my unreasonable mom. I feel sorry that we're in this situation. I'd feel sorry for myself too, but I feel that would be too self-indulgent, and that's something I want to differentiate between my older brother and myself.
"Sometimes I feel like selling the house, giving half of it to your mom, and telling her, 'Go. Take your kids.'" I looked at my dad wide-eyed when he said that. He wasn't totally serious. I've never heard my parents talk about divorce before. But I could tell: the action with the thought, though far away, was certainly within distance, if only enough time would pass.
When I asked him, when he was 28 and got married to my mom, did he ever think about the difficulties that would arise with his wife and with his family--the irreconcilable, unsolvable problems? Did he ever consider those at 28? "I should have been old enough," he laughed. "If you were to ask me for marriage advice," he later told me, "I wouldn't know what to say. 'Marry a good woman'? Well, yeah. But just because you marry a good woman doesn't mean you're going to have a good marriage, you know?"
I felt a bit sad agreeing with him.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Graduation Saturday -- June 13, 2015
I graduated college this morning.
I miss my friend Ana.
I'm sitting on my Ikea desk, in my room, listening to Slow Dive. I'm cleaning up my room because some friends are going to come over around 6 or 7 pm. It's 2:14 right now. We're having a barbecue.
I still need to apply for the Master's program. I have until the 15th or 17th.
I try so hard to be patient and compassionate. It's so hard. It's worth it.
I still have so much time until the party starts. I don't exactly know what to do.
No, yes I do. I have work to do. I have time to wait. I kinda have to wait. But waiting's not so bad. At least I have people who care about me.
I truly wanted to introduce Ana to my family. Why didn't I? I'm not ashamed of her. But maybe I felt that was too relationship-y. But friends introduce other friends to their families at graduation. But how come I didn't feel the need to introduce any of my other friends? How come only Ana?
Only Ana.
We spent the morning together.
No! I can't fall back into obsessing about her. Not today, when I just graduated.
I have to be patient, and hope for the best. I have to allow time for maturation within me. I have to wait patiently for life to unfold.
Okay. Okay. Barbecue's at 6 or 7.
I invited Ana, but she had plans already.
She gave me a card this morning with a real heartfelt message inside about how she thinks of me as her good friend. I think the card I gave her turned our relationship more platonic than I expected. But, I gave her that card because I wanted to, without expecting anything in return. That's the kind of friend and partner I ought to be: one who gives without expecting rewards or favors in return. It's not easy at all.
We sat next to each other, and went up together, and walked together. I hugged her for the first time at the end.
I'm too obsessed already; I can feel it bothering me like a bad-fitting shoe.
This kind of tumultuous love bullshit is too sad to think about. I'm too tired to handle it. I hope it passes soon.
I miss my friend Ana.
I'm sitting on my Ikea desk, in my room, listening to Slow Dive. I'm cleaning up my room because some friends are going to come over around 6 or 7 pm. It's 2:14 right now. We're having a barbecue.
I still need to apply for the Master's program. I have until the 15th or 17th.
I try so hard to be patient and compassionate. It's so hard. It's worth it.
I still have so much time until the party starts. I don't exactly know what to do.
No, yes I do. I have work to do. I have time to wait. I kinda have to wait. But waiting's not so bad. At least I have people who care about me.
I truly wanted to introduce Ana to my family. Why didn't I? I'm not ashamed of her. But maybe I felt that was too relationship-y. But friends introduce other friends to their families at graduation. But how come I didn't feel the need to introduce any of my other friends? How come only Ana?
Only Ana.
We spent the morning together.
No! I can't fall back into obsessing about her. Not today, when I just graduated.
I have to be patient, and hope for the best. I have to allow time for maturation within me. I have to wait patiently for life to unfold.
Okay. Okay. Barbecue's at 6 or 7.
I invited Ana, but she had plans already.
She gave me a card this morning with a real heartfelt message inside about how she thinks of me as her good friend. I think the card I gave her turned our relationship more platonic than I expected. But, I gave her that card because I wanted to, without expecting anything in return. That's the kind of friend and partner I ought to be: one who gives without expecting rewards or favors in return. It's not easy at all.
We sat next to each other, and went up together, and walked together. I hugged her for the first time at the end.
I'm too obsessed already; I can feel it bothering me like a bad-fitting shoe.
This kind of tumultuous love bullshit is too sad to think about. I'm too tired to handle it. I hope it passes soon.
Monday, June 8, 2015
17 months pass
I read once that romantic love will last between 12 to 17 months. That is, that high feeling one gets when they're in love lasts for that long--that feeling where your SO, the object of your affection, seems without fault, seems unreal, and your moods depend upon the flux of their existence.
I don't feel in love with Ana.
It's been about 16 months since I first fell for her behind building 5 on the stairs, studying for a linguistics quiz. We simply ran into each other an hour before class started, not really knowing the other, but deciding to study. She sat two steps above me, on that narrow stairwell, as we held books on our laps. I recall during our conversation the building feeling of clicking with her--everything seemed to find a place in her response; every joke landed; she understood my humor and my timing. My internal beats found a similarly paced heartbeat. that's when i fell in love--when, you know, when i first became infatuated. the intrusive thoughts only continued from there.
There's so much i don't even know about her. For some reason, she's really into drummers. Her boyfriend is one. She said she almost died while high one time at school (she only thought she was going to die). For the past 16 months, i've been content to just be around her, but now that's changing. i notice that i don't know much about her life outside of school.
And now--16 months later--i see her and feel sad. i feel the restless ticking pushing us apart, weeks unfeeling, distances of space expanding for each second between us. I feel how untuned she really is to me. Her life cannot possibly match into mine, nor can i now, in my current situation, possible hope to fit into hers. I need more years of maturity and experience to even begin thinking about taking care of another person, and, for all her good qualities, i know Ana is, at heart, a fragile person who needs to be taken care of.
We met at the wrong time, is all.
PS. I realize that nobody holds my happiness in their hands except for me. I must remain open to all that life offers. My life is worth more than being somebody's boyfriend or husband; it is the culmination of my experiences, skills, desires, hopes, efforts. If I put in the effort to improve my own life--not for anybody else's sake, but purely for my own; with no expectation or wish for the approval of anybody--then I think I can lead a content and fulfilling existence. But that's all for another time.
I don't feel in love with Ana.
It's been about 16 months since I first fell for her behind building 5 on the stairs, studying for a linguistics quiz. We simply ran into each other an hour before class started, not really knowing the other, but deciding to study. She sat two steps above me, on that narrow stairwell, as we held books on our laps. I recall during our conversation the building feeling of clicking with her--everything seemed to find a place in her response; every joke landed; she understood my humor and my timing. My internal beats found a similarly paced heartbeat. that's when i fell in love--when, you know, when i first became infatuated. the intrusive thoughts only continued from there.
There's so much i don't even know about her. For some reason, she's really into drummers. Her boyfriend is one. She said she almost died while high one time at school (she only thought she was going to die). For the past 16 months, i've been content to just be around her, but now that's changing. i notice that i don't know much about her life outside of school.
And now--16 months later--i see her and feel sad. i feel the restless ticking pushing us apart, weeks unfeeling, distances of space expanding for each second between us. I feel how untuned she really is to me. Her life cannot possibly match into mine, nor can i now, in my current situation, possible hope to fit into hers. I need more years of maturity and experience to even begin thinking about taking care of another person, and, for all her good qualities, i know Ana is, at heart, a fragile person who needs to be taken care of.
We met at the wrong time, is all.
PS. I realize that nobody holds my happiness in their hands except for me. I must remain open to all that life offers. My life is worth more than being somebody's boyfriend or husband; it is the culmination of my experiences, skills, desires, hopes, efforts. If I put in the effort to improve my own life--not for anybody else's sake, but purely for my own; with no expectation or wish for the approval of anybody--then I think I can lead a content and fulfilling existence. But that's all for another time.
Monday, May 11, 2015
may feelings
5/11/15
i like her because i tell stories to myself about her, stories that involved far-flung futures and no debts and manipulating character until there's no one left but me.
when i graduate in june, that'll be it: we won't see each other like this anymore. i can't wait. as it is right now, i can't help falling for her each time we meet and separate. she's on my mind the rest of the day.
love is meant to be selfless and pure and virtuous and generous, but part of me resists all that because i want her. That selfish want which rots in me, releasing toxins, poisoning my blood streams and organ tissue, can't be removed. i'd like her to cut me open and take it out, but she won't because she won't fall in love with me.
if I truly loved her, i'd leave her alone. i'd realize there's no room for me in her life, and that her life is already full of goodness. i never thought a college friend would mean so much. i never thought college would actually end.
but it won't end just yet. i'm going for a Master's. two more years. who will i become?
there's more to me than her; there's more to life than this small worldview i peek through. there are endless vistas yet explored, and new people to meet, and new love to encourage. some situations are helpless, but none are ever hopeless.
goddammit, but why do I obsess over this girl so much? what is it about her that compels an overwhelming comfort and innate familiarity? i feel like i've known her for years, but we only met last winter.
it doesn't matter. we're graduating four weeks from now, and without school, our friendship may wither and sank back into dirt. That's better for me and for her. I can move on if i admit that i love her, and that to love is to give generously and selflessly. to love is to be happy for them, even when they're not being happy with you.
love is hard and unfair. love isn't meant to sustain relationships, but rather focus them. love is spreading yourself beyond reason into loyalty-driven nonsense.
i'd rather her be happy with her boyfriend and job and other friends than to impose on her. accepting that is the only way to move on.
god, where will i be in three years? where will we all be? i hope she's okay. i hope i'm okay. i hope, i hope, i hope it'll all be okay.
i think my world-view is too confined.
i like her because i tell stories to myself about her, stories that involved far-flung futures and no debts and manipulating character until there's no one left but me.
when i graduate in june, that'll be it: we won't see each other like this anymore. i can't wait. as it is right now, i can't help falling for her each time we meet and separate. she's on my mind the rest of the day.
love is meant to be selfless and pure and virtuous and generous, but part of me resists all that because i want her. That selfish want which rots in me, releasing toxins, poisoning my blood streams and organ tissue, can't be removed. i'd like her to cut me open and take it out, but she won't because she won't fall in love with me.
if I truly loved her, i'd leave her alone. i'd realize there's no room for me in her life, and that her life is already full of goodness. i never thought a college friend would mean so much. i never thought college would actually end.
but it won't end just yet. i'm going for a Master's. two more years. who will i become?
there's more to me than her; there's more to life than this small worldview i peek through. there are endless vistas yet explored, and new people to meet, and new love to encourage. some situations are helpless, but none are ever hopeless.
goddammit, but why do I obsess over this girl so much? what is it about her that compels an overwhelming comfort and innate familiarity? i feel like i've known her for years, but we only met last winter.
it doesn't matter. we're graduating four weeks from now, and without school, our friendship may wither and sank back into dirt. That's better for me and for her. I can move on if i admit that i love her, and that to love is to give generously and selflessly. to love is to be happy for them, even when they're not being happy with you.
love is hard and unfair. love isn't meant to sustain relationships, but rather focus them. love is spreading yourself beyond reason into loyalty-driven nonsense.
i'd rather her be happy with her boyfriend and job and other friends than to impose on her. accepting that is the only way to move on.
god, where will i be in three years? where will we all be? i hope she's okay. i hope i'm okay. i hope, i hope, i hope it'll all be okay.
i think my world-view is too confined.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
coming again this summer only to pass on us again this fall
Written April 5
the jacarandas are coming back again, and that love sickness is coming back again. a reoccurring delirium of flashing purples and bell flowers. each year they come, and for each year that passes, another and another feeling appears and disappears. i get encouraged and disappointed by them -- the jacarandas, as if i expect them to make me feel something whenever they return but i never get enough. i never feel enough of that -- i don't know what -- that melancholy connectedness to bitter passing seasons. maybe that's not the core of living -- in the innate knowledge we will all pass away as others passed on before as they die from our lives. there there are those who will come and go but the ones who choose to stay are the ones worth loving. if only love could mend incurable illness and make stay for good the jacarandas.
her love bracelet on her; her happiness dancing around her hair, lone streak of red or green or blue skimming through it in the front. she's happy, she's happy. that's enough : to be friends is only death if you expected mas. I love her, i don't love her. i imagine her; i envision us. she is comfort and familiarity, but not inspiration or sensibility. she loves another : you cannot put a value on a spectrum to measure the distance between him and me; love is chaotic neutral, doesn't work in a way we can understand. friendship is calculated, exact, pointed and drawn for construction before construction begins. i bet he's a great guy, seriously treats her right and tenderness. sometimes i lose hope that i'll ever act that way, but i'm encouraged by my self-consciousness, which says to always aspire, you'll never diminish, and look for the good in others. the commendable virtues in people i know are most perfectly viewed by those who possess the same ones. to see the good in others is to see the good in oneself. if i'm always seeing the bad in others, i'll always see the bad in myself.
that love bracelet, a signifying symbol of people in love, kind-hearted mutuality. an existential hospitality: look, there's no reason for celebration, so we create moments to pick and choose them. in this way, we pickchoose our friends and partners. the choosing is powerful. the choice is all. all at least in the beginning: the choice means nothing or very little in the end. that love bracelet: i wonder if she still wears it? wears her SOs breath on her lips; kisses on her round cheek. what a goody dopegoofy dogoofy dope she is. but still -- but still -- there's something about her that holds me back, keeps me unsteady. she's a thief: i saw her steal one time in a classroom before a class was in there; somebody left a rubber stamp in the shape of a butterfly or dog or something on the whiteboard tray, and she saw it and she examined it and she laughed in glee that it was cute; and she stole it because she wanted it. i find comfort in thievery.
but that charm bracelet, and i mean that charm bracelet she wore/wears to school. what i find disappointing, she falls in love with, neither choosing but the choice bruising only one. the choice is not whether we fall in love, but how we react, act, what our response to the things we say back into the chaotic neutral scrambled egg.
what more can i say about ana's charm bracelet that said "I love you" on it. her boyfriends message to his girlfriends mind and heart. her comfort in him, a good-hearted, warm-hearted, warm-bodied man. a person in love with a person. people loving other people. a cause to live and die for.
the choice is all. the choice is all. she chose before i met her. now there's no time. the jacarandas and summer have gone, are gone.
in another five years the separation will stretch these glass bodies beyond the liquid melting point. and when the story ends, your journey with them ends too; you sort of die with them. when the story ends, you sort of end too. that part of you dies too.
the jacarandas are coming back again, and that love sickness is coming back again. a reoccurring delirium of flashing purples and bell flowers. each year they come, and for each year that passes, another and another feeling appears and disappears. i get encouraged and disappointed by them -- the jacarandas, as if i expect them to make me feel something whenever they return but i never get enough. i never feel enough of that -- i don't know what -- that melancholy connectedness to bitter passing seasons. maybe that's not the core of living -- in the innate knowledge we will all pass away as others passed on before as they die from our lives. there there are those who will come and go but the ones who choose to stay are the ones worth loving. if only love could mend incurable illness and make stay for good the jacarandas.
her love bracelet on her; her happiness dancing around her hair, lone streak of red or green or blue skimming through it in the front. she's happy, she's happy. that's enough : to be friends is only death if you expected mas. I love her, i don't love her. i imagine her; i envision us. she is comfort and familiarity, but not inspiration or sensibility. she loves another : you cannot put a value on a spectrum to measure the distance between him and me; love is chaotic neutral, doesn't work in a way we can understand. friendship is calculated, exact, pointed and drawn for construction before construction begins. i bet he's a great guy, seriously treats her right and tenderness. sometimes i lose hope that i'll ever act that way, but i'm encouraged by my self-consciousness, which says to always aspire, you'll never diminish, and look for the good in others. the commendable virtues in people i know are most perfectly viewed by those who possess the same ones. to see the good in others is to see the good in oneself. if i'm always seeing the bad in others, i'll always see the bad in myself.
that love bracelet, a signifying symbol of people in love, kind-hearted mutuality. an existential hospitality: look, there's no reason for celebration, so we create moments to pick and choose them. in this way, we pickchoose our friends and partners. the choosing is powerful. the choice is all. all at least in the beginning: the choice means nothing or very little in the end. that love bracelet: i wonder if she still wears it? wears her SOs breath on her lips; kisses on her round cheek. what a goody dopegoofy dogoofy dope she is. but still -- but still -- there's something about her that holds me back, keeps me unsteady. she's a thief: i saw her steal one time in a classroom before a class was in there; somebody left a rubber stamp in the shape of a butterfly or dog or something on the whiteboard tray, and she saw it and she examined it and she laughed in glee that it was cute; and she stole it because she wanted it. i find comfort in thievery.
but that charm bracelet, and i mean that charm bracelet she wore/wears to school. what i find disappointing, she falls in love with, neither choosing but the choice bruising only one. the choice is not whether we fall in love, but how we react, act, what our response to the things we say back into the chaotic neutral scrambled egg.
what more can i say about ana's charm bracelet that said "I love you" on it. her boyfriends message to his girlfriends mind and heart. her comfort in him, a good-hearted, warm-hearted, warm-bodied man. a person in love with a person. people loving other people. a cause to live and die for.
the choice is all. the choice is all. she chose before i met her. now there's no time. the jacarandas and summer have gone, are gone.
in another five years the separation will stretch these glass bodies beyond the liquid melting point. and when the story ends, your journey with them ends too; you sort of die with them. when the story ends, you sort of end too. that part of you dies too.
Monday, March 16, 2015
it's okay. i haven't lost anything. i have time and youth and hope. i must have faith that someone will one day love me for who i am.
those infatuations disappear; they don't exist anymore, not even in our heads. they're vapor; life blows; wind continuously circulates, circumvents. is it enough that i can move on? what if i hurt ana? i don't hurt her, i can't hurt her, because her life is dug-in, settled, and i'm trapped in hollow updrafts.
like kanye says, "keep ya love locked down. you lose."
i guess i'm moving slower than usual. endings always get me down like this - especially when ana's involved. i remember, last spring, when i first met her, i sat outside in the backyard after our final - and the last time i would see her. my parents were renovating the living room back then, and the old blue couch sectional was uncovered. it was sunset, and i faced the fleeting yellows and colorful lights down to the end. i felt content back then; tired, at peace, but i never felt turmoiled. that's not true: even then, it felt like loss.
it's important to get over stuff like this, move on and such. really, i should have moved on months again when she showed no interest in me. as i talked to her more, hung out with her more at school this quarter, i realized how serious and settled and happy she was in her relationship. it was like an engagement, like a marriage. last friday, she called her boyfriend's brother her brother-in-law. i imagine ana's relationship like i imagine mitchel and sandi's; that is, two people who have known and cared for each other for years. they know so much about the inner ticks and vibrations of the other. they have done so much together, gone out to places and made so many memories, that they have fallen in tight-knit love. their love story is the kind i want. ana's boyfriend and ana have fallen for each other as much as I wanted to fall in love with ana -- only their love is real, and therefore better and more compact and focused and satisfying.
it's unfair of me to want love with ana when she already has it with another.
i wished she could have given me more. i wish things were different, that we were possible.
i have faith in love and in myself. i have to; otherwise, i wouldn't be able to live with myself. i feel too unstable, insecure, fearful, a mess.
there can be no satisfaction to the litany of wants coursing through me. whoever i want is gonna hurt me; whatever i want isn't going to make me happy. the quality of my life depends upon my choices and actions, not wholly the company i keep.
i'm content to sit on couches and watch sunsets. if anyone wants to join me, i'm okay with that. i'm trying to live my life. make something worthwhile before i die.
tonite, to make myself feel better, i think i'll cry. there's no shame in that; it's a sort of release. i always feel worse the same day i see her. i typically get better 2 or three days afterward.
ana calling me dude and man. she's so fragile, so loyal. i wish the best for her love. ironically, its the only way i can still believe love exists and endures.
like kanye says, "keep ya love locked down. you lose."
i guess i'm moving slower than usual. endings always get me down like this - especially when ana's involved. i remember, last spring, when i first met her, i sat outside in the backyard after our final - and the last time i would see her. my parents were renovating the living room back then, and the old blue couch sectional was uncovered. it was sunset, and i faced the fleeting yellows and colorful lights down to the end. i felt content back then; tired, at peace, but i never felt turmoiled. that's not true: even then, it felt like loss.
it's important to get over stuff like this, move on and such. really, i should have moved on months again when she showed no interest in me. as i talked to her more, hung out with her more at school this quarter, i realized how serious and settled and happy she was in her relationship. it was like an engagement, like a marriage. last friday, she called her boyfriend's brother her brother-in-law. i imagine ana's relationship like i imagine mitchel and sandi's; that is, two people who have known and cared for each other for years. they know so much about the inner ticks and vibrations of the other. they have done so much together, gone out to places and made so many memories, that they have fallen in tight-knit love. their love story is the kind i want. ana's boyfriend and ana have fallen for each other as much as I wanted to fall in love with ana -- only their love is real, and therefore better and more compact and focused and satisfying.
it's unfair of me to want love with ana when she already has it with another.
i wished she could have given me more. i wish things were different, that we were possible.
i have faith in love and in myself. i have to; otherwise, i wouldn't be able to live with myself. i feel too unstable, insecure, fearful, a mess.
there can be no satisfaction to the litany of wants coursing through me. whoever i want is gonna hurt me; whatever i want isn't going to make me happy. the quality of my life depends upon my choices and actions, not wholly the company i keep.
i'm content to sit on couches and watch sunsets. if anyone wants to join me, i'm okay with that. i'm trying to live my life. make something worthwhile before i die.
tonite, to make myself feel better, i think i'll cry. there's no shame in that; it's a sort of release. i always feel worse the same day i see her. i typically get better 2 or three days afterward.
ana calling me dude and man. she's so fragile, so loyal. i wish the best for her love. ironically, its the only way i can still believe love exists and endures.
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catalog of august 2020
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